


Stay Awake and Stay Alive

by VioletLopez



Series: blink has issues and so does everyone else and a lot of people die [1]
Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: and to help fill the skittery/snitch tag, because priorities man, haha he ded, im not happy neither are my characters, so this is my thing now apparently, then their death, this is actually random shit to get me over my writer's block, y'know useless exposition on a character's backstory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-12-09 20:13:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11676282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VioletLopez/pseuds/VioletLopez
Summary: in which nothing is better than sodomyalternately: in which internal monologues last too long and do nothing for the plot and no one is happy





	Stay Awake and Stay Alive

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cazei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cazei/gifts).



> i'm kinda sorry

There were a lot of different types of nicknames among the newsies.

Most of them were stupid summarizations of the newsie’s personality - like Walking Mouth, or Romeo, or Cowboy. There were ones that were more abstract - no one could quite explain the reasoning behind the ones like Mush, or Kid Blink, or Boots. There were ones based on their appearance or similar attributes - Specs, Dutchy. Few and far between were nicknames that represented a negative side of the newsies, ones that were meant to show that the other boys accepted that part of them wholeheartedly. In fact, the only nickname that truly fit into that category was Crutchie.

Skittery’s nickname might have been that last type, he supposed, if his skittishness didn’t annoy the other boys so much. It wasn’t like they had any clue where it came from. They didn’t how young he’d been thrown onto the streets, been forced to hit the ground running and not slow down until he ran into Specs almost three years later.

They’d read the story, of course. It’d been printed in the paper. Skittery had a scrap of paper, just enough to show the headline, shoved in his pocket.

_Woman found nude on fire escape; Son missing_

It was dated October 14th, 1887. There was no picture.

Most of these boys had peddled the paper, stretched the truth and twisted the facts and completely unaware that Andrew Walker himself would someday stand among them, muttering and griping and dragging them all down.

Still, Skittery had never given much thought to how much the boys hated his anxious disposition, least not until a night in the grand year of 1897. It was winter, early January to be precise, and he was sitting on his bunk, tapping his fingers incessantly on the mattress and complaining loudly to everyone who would listen, and a few others aside.

“Ain’t nobody out in weather like this,” he said, gesturing through the window to the snow whirling heavily from the darkened sky. “ ‘Cept drunken fools and homeless folk, and neither kind have got the money to waste on news they don’t care about.” On the bunk above, Specs and Dutchy’s conversation lulled slightly. Skittery flopped backward on the bed. “Nowhere near enough papes are gonna be sold. Tibby’s’ll turn us out to make room for all them damn rich folks tryna keep warm. We’ll starve to death if the cold don’t do us in first.”

“For Christ’s sake, Skittery, can you please shut the hell up?” Blink burst out from the bunk beside him. “Now ain’t the time to be making up stories.”

Skittery shrugged. “I ain’t telling tales.”

“Would it be so damn hard to be useful for once?” Skittery felt that like a gunshot.

“Fuck you,” he said, as calmly as he could. “Would it be so damn hard to be doing something useful with that mouth of yours? Y’know, ‘sides from Mush?”

The room was quiet as Blink shot to his feet between the bunks and stared at him, murder in his eyes. His cheeks were red, his shoulders tense, his fists clenched. He looked the epitome of rage. And because Skittery was an idiot, he decided to make it worse.

“I mean, I’m sure you both enjoy it,” he said casually, leaning back on his hands and staring Blink straight in the eye. “But, as hard as it may be to believe, sometimes there are better things than sodomy.”

With an incoherent shout, Blink launched himself towards Skittery, tackling him off the bed. There was a flurry of fists and curses, as they struggled to get the upper hand. Shouts came from the other newsies as they tried to pull them apart, but they refused to stop throwing punches.

Or at least, Blink did. Skittery gave up around the time he realized how stupid all of this was, and now he just lay sprawled on the ground in a haze of pain, letting his head loll to the side and his eyes drift shut because he was starting to go numb.

“Jesus Christ, Blink, you’re killing him!” Someone yells, Jack he thinks, and finally, Blink is pried off of him. Skittery opens one eye, shocked by the effort it takes, and looks down at himself. His stomach aches, and there’s no doubt dozens of scars, but the skin’s only been split in a few places, and really those aren’t so bad.

“ ‘S fine,” he said, shocked by choked his voice sounded. He looked up at Blink. “You can keep going if you want.” Blink looked horrified, taking in Skittery’s appearance. Mush stood beside him, a hand on his arm to keep him calm.

Someone knelt down next to Skittery’s head, reaching out and brushing hair away from his face. Skittery had to squint to see their face - his vision was starting to blur. “Snitch?” He murmured. The boy gave him a sad smile.

“Someone go get the medical kit,” he said, eyes still fixed on Skittery’s face. “Stay awake, ok Skitts?”

“That’s hard,” he complained softly. “I don’t wanna stay awake.”

Snitch’s hand found his and squeezed tight. “Well, you gotta. C’mon Skitts, please.”

Skittery opened his mouth to respond, but it felt like his brain was made of cotton, and black was creeping in the edges of his vision. He tried to squeeze Snitch’s hand, but found that his muscles were refusing to obey.

“Oh,” he muttered, and it sounded strange and breathless. He lets his eyes drift closed. “I think I’m dying.”

“No!” He’s shocked by the vehemence in Snitch’s voice. “Open your eyes! Stay awake!” And he repeats that, _stay awake, stay awake_ , and as Skittery drifts into the blackness, he thinks he can hear him say, _stay alive_.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm not sorry at all


End file.
